Closure
by the moon and the stars
Summary: She really should have known better than to expect a straight answer from a dragon. Alys/Selendrile. Final scene tag.


**Closure**

**Summary**: She really should have known better than to expect a straight answer from a dragon. Alys/Selendrile. Final scene tag.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the characters or anything else belonging to the world of Vivian Vande Velde's creation.

**A/N:** I first read _Dragon's Bait_ back in middle school and it was love at first read. I still can't believe it took me this long to pick it up again. So good. And that ending – so open and full of possibilities. Consider this my humble little offering to the fandom :)

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"_Well, then, in that case, I will."_

She will. She will what? What exactly did she just commit to by agreeing to stay with him? With a _dragon_?

There were infinite possibilities, most of them, Alys was forced to admit, terribly daunting. She couldn't deny that she still feared the darkest parts of him – parts that she had caught glimpses of and that she knew extended far beneath the surface. But at least, she contented herself, she _knew_ of their existence. She knew that Selendrile was an unrepentant killer, an admitted liar, a schemer, a thief… and probably dozens of other unflattering epithets. She knew, and she didn't care. Not really. It certainly beat the alternative.

When the citizens of Saint Toby's had turned on her one by one at the witch trial, it was a blow she never saw coming. Friends and neighbors she had grown up with became instant strangers – no, not just strangers. Enemies. They were the dirt beneath her boots, the lowest and meanest of beasts. Suddenly Selendrile's disdain for humans didn't seem so foreign. She had meant what she'd told him, about giving up her revenge, but she would be lying if she said she no longer felt its keen tug deep in her gut, like a helpless worm lanced by a fisherman's hook. No, she would never go back. Four days ago her world had been knocked completely off its axis and nothing would ever be the same. No longer did she equate concepts like 'home' and 'familiarity' with sentiments like 'warm' and 'comforting.' Everything once familiar was now irreparably tainted, made even worse by the fact that she had been horribly – almost fatally – blind to such disloyalty, such cruelty of mankind. At least with Selendrile, she knew what she was getting into. For the most part.

And how strange was that? That of all the people Alys had met in her fifteen years, the ones who knew her longest and most intimately had been the ones who ultimately betrayed her, while the person she knew least – who was not even a _person_ at all – turned out to be the only one she trusted not to harm her? What kind of world did she live in where she favored the company of a dragon over that of her own kind? Why did staying by his side sound so appealing when there were no fewer than a hundred doubts staring her in the face? And why was _he_ staring at her like that?

The haystack crunched beneath Alys as she shifted, lifting her head off her knees to meet the dragon-youth's searching gaze. She could swear she caught a flash of genuine surprise in those amethyst eyes. Interesting. She hadn't thought it possible to surprise Selendrile. But readily accepting his invitation seemed to have done the trick.

Alys bit her lip. Perhaps he hadn't meant it, after all. Perhaps he'd never meant for her to accept.

Perhaps he'd hoped she would.

Around them the cloud of hay and dust had all but settled, affording Alys a clearer view. But before she could decipher the hidden meaning behind the look, Selendrile's features rearranged themselves back into their usual mask of cool indifference.

Alys's shoulders sagged. She was only just starting to understand that spending time with a dragon, however long that may be, would yield far more questions than answers.

Oddly, the first didn't come from her.

"You came back," Selendrile began out of nowhere. "Why?"

"Back?" she parroted. "What – "

"From Saint Toby's," he expanded. "With Gower."

Alys brought her legs down, folding them in front of her, and leaned forward slightly. Selendrile was already crouched before her so the adjustment left them barely a foot apart. Lowering her voice, she said, "I told you that I would. I promised I would be back. Did you doubt me?"

His violet eyes swept her face again. His expression, still, was unreadable, but his silence spoke volumes.

"I see." Alys tried to bite back the bitterness in her tone. Tried, but failed. She had known, back then, from the searing image of utter defeat painted on his face that Selendrile had assumed she would never make it back to the clearing before dawn claimed his life. She had just rather hoped that he hadn't assumed the very worst: that she wouldn't even _try_. Somehow the confirmation stung worse than the slap from Inquisitor Atherton.

Although it was true, she must concede, that when she and the dragon-youth had first begun conspiring he had never trusted her, just as she had not trusted him to let her live a minute past the fulfillment of their plan. But hadn't they moved beyond first impressions in light of all else they'd weathered together since? Hadn't they built some foundation of trust, of loyalty? Or were the bonds that linked them truly as feeble as the allure of revenge?

"Well," Alys said with finality, pulling away from him, "now you know."

"No, I don't," Selendrile countered. He moved his face closer, not letting her retreat an inch. "You made a vow and you kept it, but that does not explain why you made it in the first place."

Alys stiffened as if caught in a lie. It wasn't fair. His perception, as always, threatened to make a fool of her. "I…"

"You could have simply walked away," he went on, "found another village, started over. Made a new life for yourself without anything or anyone holding you back. You didn't. You bargained your life away to the man who betrayed you. You returned to free me. Why?" he asked again. The question was spoken with a peculiar urgency that conveyed not a hint of judgment, and Alys was mystified as to whether he was curious, confused, or downright scornful of such an act of human idiocy. Probably all three.

Alys opened and closed her mouth several times before answering, a bit petulantly, "Perhaps it's the same reason _you_ came after _me_."

It was the sort of thing said in the heat of the moment only to realize, belatedly, that it might just hold a grain of truth.

Selendrile's reply was as cool as the autumn evening. "You may have tired of revenge, but I did not."

_Revenge_.

Alys deflated again. There it was – further proof that, regardless of what may or may not have developed since, her partnership with the dragon had simply been that: a partnership, one born of mistrust and malevolence, with nothing more tying them together than the common goal of setting her hometown ablaze. Seeing him in his element – as a golden harbinger of destruction, taunting the Saint Toby's lynch mob with his deafening roars and deadly flames – should have reinforced that truth. It should have erased all doubts from her mind about the supposed evolution of their relationship, but it hadn't. In fact, Alys had even entertained the wild notion that it was _her_ Selendrile had come for, that perhaps dragons possessed some sense of honor that, in return for ridding him of his iron shackles and saving his life, he felt compelled to save hers. Or, that – heaven forbid the thought – all else aside, he actually cared for her. How silly that seemed now. Rescue or no rescue, vengeance came first. However else her imagination may have led her astray, that fact had not changed. Nor had the nature of dragons.

And yet –

_And yet_ –

"That's not what I meant," Alys blurted, her cheeks reddening as some long suppressed emotion finally bubbled to the surface. Selendrile tilted his head and she elaborated, "I meant that you came after me when I left you alone in the clearing. You followed me instead of looking for the key to your shackle. That," she said decisively, "would have been the logical thing to do."

It would have been the _dragon_ thing to do. She hadn't said as much aloud, but her meaning was unmistakable.

Selendrile rocked backwards on his heels, and his eyes slid somewhere past her shoulder. Alys marveled at being able to surprise him not once but _twice_ in a single conversation.

"Perhaps," was all he said.

"Why?" she pushed. "Why did you do that?"

He glanced back at her sharply. "I was hardly in my right mind."

"Were you in your right mind just now when you asked me to stay with you?"

"I didn't ask. I offered."

"_Were you_?" she repeated. A distant warning echoed in her mind, urging her not to become more trouble than she was worth, but she beat it down. Something hinged on his answer; she didn't know what, but she knew that it had the power to crush her. And not knowing would simply drive her mad.

Selendrile stared at her. It should have vexed her greatly, but as usual his silence revealed more than he did. He was considering her inquiry more than he let on.

"You lied to those villagers," he said suddenly, and coming from anyone else it would have been an accusation. "You told them you were guilty of every crime they accused you."

Alys had no clue what he was getting at, but she was no stranger to the dragon's unorthodox behavior. The topic wasn't chosen at random. He was making some kind of point, and all she could do now was wait him out.

After several beats of breathless anticipation, however, the significance of what he just said sank in and chased all rationality from her mind.

Air flooded her lungs, icy and sharp; it left her hot as she hissed, "You were there? You were hiding in the shadows, listening, waiting for nearly a full _day_ before you decided to swoop in at the last second? I was nearly _burned_, Selendrile!"

"You lied to them," he continued as if she had not spoken. His voice was a whisper compared to hers. "You admitted to using magic and lies against Gower and his family. You confessed to killing Atherton. You also went along with Gower's claim that he killed _me_."

"Yes, but what does that – "

"You sacrificed your honor and your life for the sake of mine. A _dragon's_."

The implied _why_ hung between them, and Alys's face burned hotter at the truth of it – which, of course, only added fuel to the fire. "I am well aware of what I – "

"There was one point you made, however," he said in a strange voice, "one point specifically, that was not a lie."

Whatever objection she was planning to lob at him next dissolved instantly, as did her anger. He had her complete attention. "And which point was that?"

"That you bewitched me." His eyes glittered with familiar mirth, and Alys couldn't tell if it was because he was lying, or because he wasn't. Both were entirely plausible. "How else do you explain how we ended up here?"

How they ended up… Where? At the farmhouse once again? Both alive, together? As accomplices? Travel companions? Something else entirely – something yet to be defined? What exactly was he saying?

One thing, and one thing only, was certain: She really should have known better than to expect a straight answer from a dragon.

So swiftly that she hardly saw him move, Selendrile swept to his feet. Automatically Alys ducked her head. Experience was a good teacher, and she recalled all too well how little the dragon-youth's long, flowing mane preserved his modesty. Not that he was ever _modest_.

Selendrile said nothing more, but over the sound of his retreating footsteps she heard soft laughter. Clearly he knew exactly what she was thinking. And of course, by the time she lifted her head to scold him he had already disappeared.

Alys sighed, long and deep. She was no witch, but it hardly took a crystal ball to predict that the road ahead would never be free of challenges. For the umpteenth time she pondered what sort of fate awaited the unlikely pair. Dragons did whatever they pleased – and aside from revenge, she had seen nothing delight Selendrile as much as leaving her irritated or unbalanced after every encounter. Not that she endeavored to make it easy for him.

Her lips twitched into a smile. Perhaps _that_ was why he'd invited her to stay. Perhaps their exchanges piqued his interest enough to warrant further exploration. Perhaps she was the one riddle he didn't despise.

Perhaps, in his own way, Selendrile did care.

So much for no longer being dragon's bait, Alys thought wryly as she rose from the haystack.

Without quite knowing what she was heading towards, she squared her shoulders and hastened after him.

**FIN**

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**A/N**: I think Alys has her work cut out for her… Then again, so does Selendrile. Heh ;)


End file.
